


follow the sun out of the night

by maharlika



Series: loki on ice [3]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Naked Male Clothed Male, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sibling Incest, Smut, figure skater loki, figure skating, hockey player thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/pseuds/maharlika
Summary: When Loki had first competed in the Olympics, he put on the feathers of a swan and skated to a song about a dying bird. Dramatic, Thor had said. It's easy for him to say—he’s never had to be anything but himself.With the start of the competition season, Loki falls back into old habits. These days, it's easier than ever to doubt Thor's love. The distance between brothers starts to wear them thin, and it's only a matter of time before something snaps.A Figure Skating!Loki AU sequel.
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Series: loki on ice [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698331
Comments: 114
Kudos: 268





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/gifts).



> For Raven, for the inspiration, the support, and the friendship. Also for her birthday! 🎉
> 
> And thank you to Bucky (curds_tweets) for the beta 💛
> 
> This fic is a sequel so it's probably a good idea to read the fics that came before this (the original and the [mini-sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20527409/chapters/48721370)).
> 
> This fic now comes with gorgeous art from my love, please check it out [here](https://twitter.com/spreadtheashes/status/1292084597023416326)! AAAAA.

When Loki had first competed in the Olympics, he put on the feathers of a swan and skated to a song about a dying bird. _Dramatic_ , Thor had said. It’s easy for him to say—he’s never had to be anything but himself. 

Some days Loki feels like he wants to be anything _but_ himself. Like tonight. It’s 9 PM on a Sunday and he’s just finished putting on his skates. The sight of his own feet—blackened toes, broken nails—sets him off, and it takes him a while to get up. But up he goes, eventually, because the hockey boys are starting to file into the locker room.

“Hey,” one of them says, bumping into him deliberately at the doorway. “Wanna suck my dick?” There’s a burst of laughter. It’s the same joke, every time. 

Loki sighs. What he wants to do is take off his skate covers and stab the guy’s shin. What he should do is walk away. Instead, he turns around and raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” he says, putting a hand on his hip. “Take it out, then.”

The silence that follows feels absolute, like ice. Loki waits for it to crack. 

“You probably couldn’t take it,” the guy says, mocking. He looks around, grinning at his friends. 

Loki thinks of the last cock he had in his mouth—his brother’s—and has to clamp down on the urge to gloat about it. People say all kinds of snide shit about Loki behind his back, on the internet, even—clearly—to his face. And they don’t even know the worst of it.

“Try me,” he says, shrugging. “If you’re man enough to, that is.”

“You’re such a fucking _freak_ ,” the guy mutters, venomous, but he backs down.

“Freak,” someone echoes.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Your loss,” he says, and walks away.

In his head he tells himself they’ll never be anything but no-name hockey rejects, and he’s gone to the Olympics. _Will_ go to the Olympics again, even if he has to run himself into the ground for it. 

He takes a deep breath as soon as he’s at the rink side, slipping off his skate covers and plunking his bag on the bench next to the ice. The reason why he has to wait for the hockey players to leave the ice is because he hates sharing the rink with anyone when he practices—it’s part vanity, part anxiety, but Valentina has softened enough to indulge him. Hence: 9 PM practices.

He checks his phone, stalling. No calls, no new messages except for Valentina’s order to get started. Nothing from Thor.

It’s fine. It’s been like this since September. Training camp, then the start of the hockey season.

He stuffs the phone into his bag. Waves to Dave the zamboni guy and pushes off from the edge of the ice. The music starts up and Loki loses himself in it, in the rigour of coaxing his exhausted muscles and aching bones into jumps and spins, extensions, step sequences.

He weaves through his drills, mindless. Going through the motions is all he feels like he does these days. Valentina is there when he looks up through sweat-soaked hair, about an hour later.

“Again,” she says, imperious, some Russian witch who’s made her way out of Baba Yaga’s forest and somehow landed in New Jersey. “Ugly landing. You’re bringing that to Russia? Shameful.”

Loki grits his teeth. He goes again.

—

It’s 3 AM when he drags his weary self home, letting himself into his empty apartment. He eats an apple—sliced up, with a piece of Brie, he’s a figure skater, not a monster—and tries to call Thor.

It rings and rings. Each ring stabs him in the head, rattles his bones, and he gives up after the third try. The season’s just started, he knows. Thor is travelling two, three times a week, he _knows._ Thor doesn’t hate him. Probably.

In bed, he tosses and turns, groping blindly for his phone every few minutes. Tells himself that Thor is sleeping. Checks the last message he got—a “hahaha” after Loki said something scathing about one of Thor’s teammates. The sun starts to rise. When 6 AM rolls around and there’s still nothing from his brother, Loki lets himself drift off into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up at around noon, sees a series of messages from Thor: _hey, you called?_ and _sorry, bit busy. call back soon_ and _love you baby_.

His stomach churns, from dread and hunger both. 

“Nothing important, just miss you, love you,” he sends back. Thor doesn’t reply.

He makes lunch—chicken breast, a side salad with no dressing—does his strength training at the gym, goes to physical therapy for his hip. 

He checks his phone obsessively. There’s texts from Steve asking if they can meet up when he’s in town, cat videos from Natasha, a picture of Bucky’s costume for the new season—it’s atrocious, Loki wants to burn it—but nothing from Thor.

Loki’s heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach, like an anchor, and stays there for the rest of the day. When he steps onto the ice that night, he feels the weight of it dragging him down. It makes him clumsy, careless, which is dangerous. Valentina doesn’t even yell at him when he falls, badly, on an Axel. It crashes through his entire body, and he lays on his side, winded, breathing heavily, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. 

He slams his fists into the ice in frustration, roaring angrily. She just watches with her knowing eyes and her mouth flattened into a grim line.

Later on, she walks over to him, hands in the pockets of her huge coat, and says, “You had sex.”

“What,” Loki says, but his bruised hands twitch where he’s unlacing his boots.

“Sex. It’s messing with your brain. I told you,” she says. 

“I didn’t fuck anyone,” Loki mutters. 

She looks at him, appraising. 

“You get it out of your system before Russia, before Japan. Is Olympics soon, and you want to be there, yes?”

“Yes,” Loki says, but it sounds more like defeat than anything else. 

—

October passes in fragments. Loki calculates the time between calls, tracks his mood based on whether Thor texts him that day or not. He trains, he works out, he goes to his doctor and convinces her to give him more painkillers, more sleeping pills. 

He starts watching Thor’s games—the replays, because he can’t bear to watch them live. Never had an interest before, and was always vocal about it, and Thor never seemed to mind. 

The awful truth is that it makes Loki burn to watch Thor play. It’s envy, old and ugly, winding around his chest, making it hard to breathe. Thor has never begrudged Loki his skating, but Loki can’t watch Thor play and not associate it with their upbringing, with Odin’s clear preference of sports, of sons. With the whispers that followed him down the hallways of their highschool while Thor got fistbumps and cheers.

But if that’s all he can get of his brother these days—flashes of him on the screen, the static-y murmur of his voice when he remembers to call Loki before passing out from exhaustion in some hotel room—then he’ll take it.

Thor looks happy when he plays, joyful. Exuberant even in defeat. 

Loki wishes, desperately, that he could skate like that. 

Sometimes, the commentators talk about Thor, and it’s strange for other people to talk about Loki’s brother like that, like they know him. Like they know parts of him that Loki doesn’t. For years, he’s kept a certain distance away from his brother out of necessity, but that means he doesn’t know this side of Thor at all. Thor has _fans_ who know this part of him better than Loki does.

It makes his skin crawl, makes him feel greedy, makes him want to race to Las Vegas and kiss Thor in front of everyone.

He doesn’t. He sits in the dark, wretched, and watches his brother fly across the ice, like a shooting star streaking through the night.

—

When Thor _does_ call, he’s affectionate, sweet. Asks Loki if he’s eaten, how his training’s going. Sometimes, he tells Loki to get in bed. Tells Loki to jerk himself off and let Thor hear him, and Loki stares at the ceiling and pumps his cock, whines louder than he usually would, clings to the rumble of Thor’s voice like far-off thunder. Like waiting for the rain to come after a long dry spell.

“I can’t wait to fuck you, baby,” Thor groans, muffled into the pillow. 

_Is that all you want from me?_ Loki wants to ask, but is too terrified to say it out loud.

“Soon,” he promises, though he doesn’t know when that’s going to be. Their seasons are only going to get busier. And what if Loki doesn’t make it to the Olympics? He imagines Thor there, without him, surrounded by thousands of attractive athletes, and it makes him want to cry. God, he’s pathetic.

“Still there, baby?”

Loki doesn’t say anything, suddenly frozen in place. He clamps a hand over his mouth and his body shudders on a sob. 

“Baby?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, hot tears starting to pour down his cheeks without his volition.

_God, this was a mistake, it was all a mistake, they never should have done this, this is going to ruin their lives—_

After a few moments, Thor cancels the call, and the other line goes silent. 

—

Loki goes to Russia. The Rostelecom Cup is one of his favorite competitions, and he feels a thrill as soon as he steps out of the airport and into the icy chill of Moscow in November. His fans meet him at Arrivals, handing him flower crowns and a gift—new skate covers, decorated with snakes—and he remembers he has a life outside of being miserable about his brother. 

Bucky catches him in a headlock as soon as he’s inside the hotel, and they meet up with the other skaters on this circuit of the Grand Prix—Sam, Natasha, Shuri, among others—and get drinks. 

Loki spends the night with his friends, letting himself relax. He knows the language, knows the area, the people. He’s excited about his programs too—reviving The Swan was a bold move, but he’s certain it will pay off. 

The night waxes and wanes, and soon Bucky’s kissing his forehead and dropping him off in the lobby, and Loki hums to himself, more drunk than he’d meant to be, but feeling happy about it.

Then the elevators open, and Loki finds himself face to face with En Dwi Gast.

—

He’s here to choreograph for the Maximoff siblings, he says as the elevator climbs up, too slow.

Loki hums, noncommittal. The last time he saw Gast was in Japan, more than a year ago. It had been an interesting night, but not one Loki likes to dwell on. They haven’t kept in touch.

“And what have _you_ been up to, kitten? Gunning for the Olympics?”

“Who isn’t?” Loki shoots back, feeling the words leave his mouth in a strange way. God, he needs to sit down.

“Don’t you think you’re a little bit too old for that stuff now, hm?” Gast wiggles his eyebrows. 

Loki rolls his eyes. “I’m 23, asshole.”

“Well, consider it!” Gast says, gesturing wide. “There’s always an, ah, open spot for you at Sakaar, kitten.”

Loki shrugs, looking at the floor.

The elevator dings. It’s Loki’s stop.

“Ah,” Gast says, before Loki can step out. “If you’re feeling a bit lonely tonight, I can whip something up.” He winks, smiling benevolently.

“Good _night_ , Gast,” Loki says, and doesn’t quite storm off with the gravitas he wants.

The thought rattles in his brain as he’s getting ready for bed, though. He wasn’t going to accept—even if he wasn’t in a relationship with his brother, it would still be a bad idea—but the offer lingers in the back of his mind, insidious. 

Thor travels so much. He’s so handsome, fit. Rich, too, many times moreso than Loki. Hockey pays; figure skating barely covers the bills. And Thor must have had to satisfy himself before—before Loki. And there would have been no shortage of takers, Loki’s sure.

Loki groans, pouring himself a glass of water. It sloshes out of the cup, cold. He wants to douse his head in it. 

He checks his phone, and finds a selfie from Thor waiting for him.

He’s wearing a wetsuit, half-undone, taken at the beach on a rare day off. 

He’s left Loki a voice message too, seven minutes long, just his brother rambling about surfing and hockey. He says _I love you_ six times, _I miss you_ seven times. Loki listens to it on repeat until he falls asleep.

—

Loki takes second place at the end of the Rostelecom Cup. It’s an excellent finish. Bucky’s first, but he’s Russian, so that was to be expected.

Before he goes home, Loki visits all his favorite haunts: tiny boutiques that sell rare scarves, fur coats, delicate glass jewelry; a restaurant with a live pastoral display in the center and a particularly loud sheep; cathedrals even though he hasn’t prayed a day in his life. 

He takes selfies and sends them to Thor. They leave each other voice messages. Loki takes a video of himself riding a vibrator, and Thor responds with a video of himself jerking off that makes Loki’s mouth water. 

There’s a week to the NHK Trophy, a month to US Nationals. Loki’s failure at World’s seems like a very long time ago. It’s strange, but as the weather grows colder, Loki feels better, like he’s coming out of hibernation.

—

Thor calls him after one of his games. Loki knows because he’s been keeping track—and because of the roar of people in the background, cheering wildly.

“Hi,” Loki says, heart jumping into his throat.

“Hi,” Thor laughs, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Loki mumbles, setting his phone on the bench and putting it on speaker while he laces his boots. It’s almost 9 PM. He has a flight to Japan in the morning. “Waiting for the hockey guys to get off the ice. Sounds like a riot over there.”

“Yeah,” Thor says, and babbles some hockey nonsense that Loki doesn’t understand despite the hours he’s spent watching Thor play by now.

“Does that mean you won?” Loki asks, grinning despite himself.

“It means we crushed them,” Thor crows.

“Congratulations,” Loki says, feeling lighter than he has in ages. 

“Thanks, baby,” Thor says, making Loki feel warm down to his toes.

From the other side of the line, someone goes, “Who’re you talking to Thor? That the same chick from the hotel last night?”

Loki goes cold all over.

Thor laughs, fake and forced, and says, “Listen, I gotta go—”

“Thor—”

The line goes dead. 

Loki stares at the floor, blood rushing through his ears.

Thor wouldn’t—he would _never_ —he _loves_ Loki—

He stumbles to his feet, vision going blurry with tears. 

He bumps into someone, one of the guys getting off the ice, and he’s shoved back, hard. 

“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the guy says.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Loki shouts, swinging wildly.

His hand connects with a sickening crack.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he thinks of, when they’ve pulled him off the hockey player and he’s sitting on the bench by the side of the rink with a cup of vending machine coffee in front of him, is that he can’t skate with a broken hand. 

“It won’t work,” he whimpers to himself, holding his hand to his chest. It hurts, throbs, but he can’t bear to let it go. “It won’t work, I can’t—I’m going to lose everything. I’m going to lose _everything_.” 

“Is fine,” Valentina says. “Let me look.”

“If I can’t skate in Japan, I can’t go to the Finals, and if I can’t go to the Finals, they’ll never let me on the Olympics Team,” Loki babbles, tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks. 

“Let me _look_ ,” Valentina says, holding a hand out.

Loki grits his teeth and extends his hand.

He flinches when she touches it, but the pain is encouraging. It’s not swelling or going numb, and he can wiggle his fingers when she tells him to. She kneads his hand gently for a few moments, ignoring his hissing, turning it over, examining the back of his palm, his fingers, his wrist.

“Is fine,” she proclaims eventually, letting him pull his hand back. “You take painkillers. You skate now.”

He sniffles, rubbing away his tears with his other hand.

“I don’t—”

“You _skate_ ,” she says, firm. “On the ice. You skate, and skate well. Japan tomorrow. Go.”

Loki’s head snaps up, glaring at her.

“I don’t want to skate,” he grounds out, feeling something hot and tight coalesce in his chest. He wants to go home, to curl up in bed and cry until he can’t breathe. He wants to punch something. He wants _Thor._

The last thought makes him flinch.

_That the chick from last night?_

His hand clenches into a fist, and it hurts. He hurts. Fucking hurts all over. There isn’t a part of him that isn’t in pain, and he can’t remember the last time he didn’t feel like this. 

“You are skater,” Valentina says. “You fall, what do you do?”

“Valentina,” Loki groans.

One of the first things Loki learned when he started to skate was how to fall. When he goes into a jump, he hits the ice with half a ton of force—hard enough to shatter glass. Hard enough to shatter bone. 

Falling is easy, though. The hard part is what comes next.

“What do you _do_ , Loki?” Valentina asks.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut. Thinks of the swan, flying through a frozen winter, kept alive only by the warmth from the beating of its own wings. 

“I get up,” Loki says, and does just that.

\--

He leaves his phone behind in America. Texts Thor to contact Valentina if he needs anything and gets on a plane to Sapporo. 

His hand still aches, but it’s no worse than the rest of him. He pops his painkillers, puts on his skates, and keeps his head down during practice. He should be running off the high from his success at the Rostelecom Cup, but it only makes him more anxious. The higher up you are, the farther you have to fall. Loki knows this well.

The NHK Trophy is a deeper field. The Japanese skaters are at the top of the game, and Peter Parker is here. He won Skate America at the start of the Grand Prix. He’s expected to win this one too. Loki doesn’t need to place first. He just needs to medal. 

Loki skates second, following a lukewarm performance from a Bulgarian skater at his first Grand Prix assignment. He opens up his short program without a hitch: a clean Triple Lutz-Triple Toe to start, easy and smooth. His next element is the Quad Flip, and he doesn’t land cleanly, but he manages to salvage it by putting his hand down. That’s his mistake, though, the reflex of it: pain twinges up his arm, jarring him badly, and he stumbles on the ice. He can hear the crowd hush and mutter—he’d been wearing a hand brace during this morning’s practice, after all.

He pushes his Triple Axel back for later, goes into the step sequence and the spins, putting on a brave, confident face, though he’s not skating as fast as he’d like. He feels slow, heavy. The choreography sequence gives him moments to catch his breath, and then he’s going into the Axel—a double, not a triple. The force of his landing vibrates all the way to his hand, electric, shocking. 

He swallows past the pain, raises his injured arm up: the beak of a swan lifting its head. 

He clenches it into a fist. 

The crowd roars.

\--

He’s in 4th place after the Free Skate, but that’s enough points for him to qualify for the Finals. He feels nothing but an overwhelming sense of relief, too exhausted for anything else. In another two weeks, he’ll be in Vancouver, but for now, it’s another 20+ hours to America, and a long ride to his apartment from the airport. 

He misses the weight of his phone in his hand, almost like a physical pang. The anxiety from his last competition fades into the background, and suddenly he has time to think about Thor. Valentina hadn’t mentioned a thing about his brother, so Loki doesn’t know if Thor misses him. If he still cares. If he ever cared at all.

In his wildest dreams, he opens his apartment and finds Thor waiting there, like the time he showed up at the ice rink after World’s, or the time he flew across the country in one night and showed up at Loki’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, just because Loki was missing him.

He can’t help but hold his breath when he puts his key in the door, but then it swings open and there’s no one inside. Just stale air, old furniture, the hum of the fridge. 

Everything comes bubbling up again, the jealousy, the resentment, the fear. The self-loathing. The anger. But just as quickly as it comes, it’s gone again. If there’s one thing Loki knows, it’s that he never deserved Thor’s love anyway. He was lucky to get what he got. 

Loki’s shoulders slump. He kicks off his shoes, his pants, tears off his shirt, abandons his clothes like a line of fallen soldiers from the entryway to his bedroom.

He swallows down two painkillers, crawls into bed, and sleeps for 16 hours. 

\--

He plugs his phone in to charge while he makes breakfast for dinner. The calls and texts start coming in while he’s eating crepes, a treat he’s allowed himself for qualifying for the Finals. There’s a series of them from Thor, ranging from _can we talk_ to _i’m sorry baby i swear it’s not what it sounded like_ to _valentina told me to fuck off_. The last one says _congrats baby i heard the news. wish i could have watched. i love you so much, lo._

Loki calls. Thor picks up on the first ring, like he was waiting for it, even though he should be at the rink by now. 

“Hey,” he says, before Thor can get past “ _B_ _aby—_ ”

“I just, I need to talk. Let me finish, okay?” Loki says, heart starting to race. 

“Yeah,” Thor says, careful, “of course.”

Loki closes his eyes and swallows, letting a few seconds pass before he can talk without crying.

“I don’t want to ask you for things you can’t give me,” Loki says, forcing it out. “I never—I don’t want to be something you regret.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Thor makes a pained noise on the other side. He takes a shuddering breath. “So if you—if you can’t do this anymore, you need to tell me. You need to _tell_ me, Thor. I’ll be okay. But I can’t bear to be something that makes you unhappy.”

“Baby,” Thor says, sounding horrified. “Loki, where is this all coming from?”

“You tell me,” Loki says bitterly. “ _That woman_ —”

“She’s just a fan,” Thor says, calm but firm. “The guys have been teasing me because she keeps showing up at our hotels. It’s a bit creepy, honestly. But nothing has been going on, baby. I promise. I swear, Loki. I love you. And you’ll be the first to know if anything changes, but I can promise you that _nothing is going to change_. I love you.” Thor’s voice hitches. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t regret any of it. God, just hearing your voice—you have no idea what you do to me, baby. I love you.”

“Thor,” Loki chokes out, then crumbles, dissolving into heaving sobs. Fuck. He doesn’t care if Thor’s lying. Doesn’t care if Thor is stringing him along. He just wants. He _wants_. 

They talk for a few more minutes, Thor telling Loki how much he misses him, how he watched his skate on YouTube and cried, how he couldn’t be prouder of his baby brother. Of his baby. 

“I’ve been watching your games too,” Loki blurts out, then winces.

There’s a shocked silence on the other side, then Thor’s voice comes, sly, “Did you enjoy yourself, baby?”

“Shut up,” Loki says, flushing. “You’re—you’re the worst.”

“God, I want to kiss you so badly.”

Loki’s eyes flutter shut just at the thought of it.

“Me too,” he sighs. “And I...I’m really sorry. About jumping to conclusions. I know you wouldn’t.”

“I would never do that to you, Loki,” Thor says. He takes a deep breath, and it sounds shaky. Loki thinks he hears a sniffle or two. 

“Promise?” Loki teases weakly.

“Promise,” Thor says, and he sounds properly choked up. “Never, _ever_. I’m going to make you so happy, baby. December, okay? I get a few days off around Christmas. I can come over, we’ll figure something out. Just a few more weeks.”

Loki nods, then realizes Thor can’t see him. 

“Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Thor says. “Never doubt it.”

The call ends when Thor gets called back to practice. In the background, someone says, “That a chick, Thor?”

And Thor says, “It’s my brother, asshole.”

\--

It’s when Loki’s going through his drills that night that it hits him, what he has to do. He nearly trips and falls on his face in his haste to get off the ice and to his phone. Valentina looks up from where she’s making notes on his past protocols for the season. 

“Just a second,” he says, and she sighs, gusty, but lets him.

He checks his schedule, then checks Thor’s game schedule. Double-checks. Triple-checks, to be sure.

Then he pulls up the airline website and buys a ticket to Las Vegas. 

\--

He almost cancels his flight three times, finger hovering over the button on his phone. It’s beyond crazy—he should be training, not haring off across the country to—to _what_? To see his brother. To hug him. To fuck him. 

It’s ridiculous. Loki’s never done anything like this. He’s been reckless, sure, but not to the point of endangering everything he’s been working towards since he was four years old. It makes him feel giddy, almost drunk on the feeling. The feeling lasts all through the flight, which is at 3 AM—he’d chosen it so he could sleep through it, but his nerves make it impossible. The time passes by too quickly and too slowly all at once.

Then he’s at the airport, phone in his hand. He takes a deep breath and calls Thor.

It takes a few tries for him to answer, and each time, it makes Loki’s heart clench with anxiety. Eventually, though, Thor picks up, and his raspy, early-morning voice on the other side of the phone sends a shiver of relief down Loki’s spine.

“Baby?” Thor asks, and Loki can imagine him still in bed, rumpled and sleep-soft. He has to bite his lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise.

“Hi,” Loki says. He bounces on the balls of his feet.

“Morning,” Thor says, and there’s the sound of sheets shuffling in the background.

“I sort of have a favor to ask,” Loki says.

“Hm?” Thor asks. “What do you need, baby?”

“Can you come pick me up at the airport?” Loki asks, chewing on his bottom lip. His hand’s trembling, heartbeat going wild. He feels like he’s going to shake out of his body.

“Uh,” Thor says, clearly confused. “Okay? Which airport? When?”

“I’m at McCarran,” Loki says, and a giggle escapes him.

“You’re at…” Thor goes quiet, then there’s more shuffling, and then he says, “Wait, what? McCarran? Baby, what—”

“I need someone to pick me up,” Loki says, grinning now, heart in his throat, “so I can visit my big brother.”

Thor inhales on the other side, a sharp gasp. 

“Loki,” he says, sounding awestruck. “Baby, did you—oh my god, baby.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the sound of it rough across the phone. 

Loki flushes, feeling warm and pleased. He’s smiling so hard it’s starting to hurt. 

“I can’t believe you,” Thor says around a huff of laughter. The next moment, though, he’s sniffling, his breaths coming out hitched. 

“Thor,” Loki says, smugness melting into shock, “are you crying?”

“Yeah, I am, you asshole,” Thor laughs again, wet, “fuck. I’m on my way, I’m gonna come pick you up. I love you so much, baby, oh my god.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Loki says, soft. His heart feels tight, and he blinks away his own tears. He forces his fingers to loosen their vice-grip on his phone, switches it to the other ear. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“I can’t believe you did this,” Thor says, and the raw astonishment in his voice makes Loki want to sink into the ground.

“Hurry up,” he says, instead of the other things on the tip of his tongue— _I’m sorry, I promise I’ll do better, I love you, I love you, I love you_.

\--

Loki doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants to run into Thor’s arms and kiss him at the airport. The moment he sees Thor, every needle of doubt and self-loathing that’s sunk deeply into his skin just sloughs off, forgotten. He can’t help but stand taller, feel lighter. That’s what it does to him, just seeing his brother. 

His eyes grow wider, hungrily taking in the sight of Thor, scruffy, his hair a nest that Loki wants to crawl into. His legs don’t know whether to break into a run or turn into jelly, but he forces them to stay steady. He can’t help but sprint the last few meters, though, throwing himself against Thor with a _thump_. His brother doesn’t even rock backwards with his weight, just gathers Loki up in his arms, the way a rising cliff meets the swell of the ocean. 

“God, I wish I could kiss you,” Thor murmurs into Loki’s hair, breathing him in deeply. 

“God, I wish you could,” Loki says, and it’s entirely too desperate. He wants to clamber all over Thor, wants to wind his legs and arms around his brother and cling and never let go. He could live like that forever, he thinks, like a limpet, a leech. He’d gorge himself on Thor’s scent, his sweat, his come, and it would be a good life. 

“Baby,” Thor whispers, rocking them together, and like this Loki can pretend they’re just two lovers meeting each other at the airport after a long time apart. Thor kisses every part of him that he can: his hair, his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw, dangerously close to his mouth. 

Loki rises on his tiptoes, eyes closed, face turned up like he’s waiting for raindrops to patter upon him. _Like lemondrops and gumdrops_ , he thinks, that familiar children’s song. Thor’s kisses are sweeter still. 

“Take me home,” he rasps, throat tight and sticky. He feels like he’s going to cry again. “Please, Thor, I need—”

“I’ve got you,” Thor murmurs, fingers on Loki’s neck. “I’ve got you, baby.”

—

Thor looks tired. Loki was too preoccupied with relief to see it, but it’s clear as day when he drives them to his apartment.

Las Vegas passes through the windows of the car, muted in the early morning sunlight.

Thor watches the road. Loki watches Thor. 

The dark circles under his eyes, deep enough to drown in. The tired slump of his shoulders, like mountains eroded over time. The lean river of his body, too thin even by Loki’s standards. He looks run ragged, parched and brittle, and it makes Loki ache. 

He’s been so selfish. Thor isn’t doing well, Loki can see it clear as day now that he’s got him in front of him. How did he not notice before? What if he’d never come?

 _You’re here now_ , he tells himself firmly. He puts a hand on top of Thor’s on the steering wheel, strokes his thumb over the papery skin of his knuckles, back and forth and back, and Thor smiles.

“So,” Thor says, eyes staring ahead, “what’s up with your hand?”

Loki winces. “Where’d you hear about that?”

“I texted Peter.”

“You texted _Peter_?”

“We’re friends! He’s way nicer than Valentina.”

“Unbelievable,” Loki mutters, but he can’t help but smile. 

“So is it okay? What happened?”

Loki flexes his hand and it twinges, the pain sore but not sharp. “It’s getting better. And I punched someone.”

“You—what?” Thor turns his head to shoot Loki a look that is both incredulous and amused.

“The hockey players at my rink are assholes,” Loki says, trying to be casual. Thor’s expression grows stormy. He’s heard Loki’s stories before. 

“I’m gonna kill them,” Thor says, menacing.

“No need,” Loki says cheerfully, “I’m already on it.”

Thor laughs at that, softening with it. 

“I love you, okay?” Thor says, glancing at Loki again, and his eyes are so bright, so earnest.

“I love you too,” Loki says, and has to remind himself to breathe past the sudden swell of emotion in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

When they get to Thor’s building, they take the stairs up two at a time, too impatient to wait for the elevator. Loki can’t help the twinge of jealousy when Thor unlocks the door and his apartment opens up, sprawling and beautiful. It’s all polished hardwood and floor-to-ceiling windows, rugs so plush that Loki wonders what it would be like to get fucked on them.

The jealousy fades quickly, though, because as soon as the door closes behind him, Thor is taking him in his arms and kissing him.

Loki whimpers involuntarily; Thor’s touch is all it takes to pluck a note out of the instrument of his chest. He wraps his arms around Thor’s neck and goes up on his toes—he’s never gladder for his tiny figure skating frame than when he’s pressed up against his brother. The only exception is when Thor _picks him up_ , still keeping their mouths pressed together, hot and wanting, carrying Loki like he weighs nothing.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Loki gasps, wrapping his legs around Thor’s waist.

“That’s the plan,” Thor says, almost a growl, and a surge of dizzying arousal nestles warm and heavy in Loki’s stomach.

“God, Thor, please,” he babbles, rubbing his body against Thor’s. His cock is already hard, straining in his sweatpants. He can’t help himself, it’s been so long, and everything about Thor is like an aphrodisiac to Loki’s frayed and needy senses.

“I know,” Thor murmurs, “I’m gonna give you what you need, baby.”

Loki buries his face in Thor’s neck, nuzzling and kissing and licking and biting. He feels half-gone just on the relief of being able to touch him again. To touch and to—to—

“Here we go, baby,” Thor says, nudging open the door to what must be his bedroom. He doesn’t bother to turn the light on—the dazzling sun through those massive windows is enough.

“Good thing you live on the 10th floor,” Loki giggles.

“At this point, I don’t care who sees,” Thor mutters. “I wanted to kiss you so badly at the airport, god, fuck, Loki. Baby, you look so good, look at you.”

“Thor,” Loki whines, “bed, please.”

Thor throws him gently on the bed, and Loki barely has time to push himself up on his elbows before his brother is on top of him. Fuck, he’s massive. His body covers every inch of Loki so perfectly, careless of Loki’s jagged corners.

“Wait,” Loki mumbles, before Thor can ravish him. “I wanna—let me—”

Loki lifts a hand to stroke Thor’s hair, cut short, though his undercut’s gone all fuzzy. His hand wanders down his brother’s face, then his neck, where he presses his fingers up against Thor’s pulse. It’s going so fast, and Thor’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

“Baby,” he groans out.

“ _Wait_ ,” Loki bites out, and smiles, satisfied, when Thor shudders and obeys. Thor’s eyes flutter shut, and his mouth falls open as Loki pushes his hands under Thor’s shirt to touch his stomach and his chest. He runs his fingers lightly against Thor’s sides, where he’s ticklish, then up to graze at his nipples. Thor gasps and drops his head, pressing his forehead against Loki’s.

“Baby, please,” he mumbles. “Please, let me touch you.”

“Needy is a good look on you,” Loki teases, but it’s then that Thor’s patience snaps. He grabs Loki’s wrists and pins them above his head with one hand, then rucks up Loki’s shirt with the other, until it’s bunched up around his armpits.

“ _Brute_!” Loki yells, wriggling, but his playful struggling ceases when Thor leans down to catch a nipple between his teeth. He rolls the tip of his tongue over the sensitive bud, and Loki’s urge to draw any of this out dissipates immediately.

He moans softly, throwing his head back and baring himself for Thor.

“Keep them there,” Thor says, squeezing Loki’s wrists, and his voice is so low and rough that Loki has to press his legs together as his cock pulses.

Loki whimpers but obeys, crossing his wrists and looking up at his brother with wide eyes.

Thor’s hands settle on his thighs and Loki exhales. He can handle this.

“You wore sweatpants to the airport, baby?” Thor asks, raising an eyebrow as he strokes his hands up and down Loki’s thighs, dipping to rub the insides. “Not your usual style, is it?”

Loki flushes.

“Wanted to be comfortable,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling too aware of how hard his cock is, how it must be pressing up against the soft material of his sweats.

“And are you?” Thor asks, his hand creeping down to cup Loki through the fabric. His hand is _large_ , and he covers Loki so well, so completely, that Loki has to gulp in a breath before nodding.

“Yes,” he squeaks out.

“Or maybe my pretty baby brother wanted to make sure I had easy access to his pretty little cock when he came over to visit,” Thor says, teasing and smug. His hand tugs at the elastic of Loki’s sweats and Loki has to grip the sheets above his head to keep his hands from flailing.

“Thor,” Loki whimpers. It’s the only thing he has the wherewithal to say. His mind is going dangerously blank.

“Shh, baby, I’ll take care of you,” Thor says, still smirking. He tugs Loki’s sweats down and Loki gasps when his cock is bared to the air, too cold on his flushed skin.

“No underwear?” Thor asks, amused, as if he expected any different.

“No,” Loki chokes out.

“My eager, needy baby brother,” Thor says, all fondness, his smile turning indulgent. His thumb strokes a line up Loki’s cock, tracing the vein on the underside.

“Thor,” Loki whines again, turning his head into the sheets. “Please.”

Thor drags the rest of the sweatpants off of him, slowly rubbing the soft fabric against his skin before taking it all off and setting it aside.

“Shirt off,” Thor says, and Loki shakily draws his arms down—casting Thor an uncertain look, asking for permission—and tugs his shirt up and off, leaving him naked. It’s a common enough position for them: Loki, naked and bared to Thor’s shameless gaze, and Thor still fully clothed. The contrast of it always makes Loki blush, makes his cock twitch.

“Back down, hands above your head again, that’s it,” Thor murmurs, his voice going low and gentle, and Loki feels himself settling, knows without a doubt that he’s in safe hands.

Thor rearranges him as he pleases, drawing Loki’s arms higher up so that his chest strains from the position, then drawing his knees up so his feet are flat on the bed, legs spread apart by the bulk of Thor bullying in between them.

“Hi, baby,” Thor murmurs, when he’s got Loki positioned to his liking. He leans down to kiss Loki’s cheek, and Loki blindly turns towards it, wanting to catch Thor’s mouth. Thor generously grants him another kiss, sweeping his tongue between Loki’s lips for access. His tongue curls against Loki’s stroking, and Loki moans softly.

The moan turns into a keen when Thor’s fist wraps around his cock, stroking just the way Loki likes.

“Thor,” Loki gasps, shivering. His hips jerk into Thor’s hold, and Thor keeps his rhythm slow and steady, occasionally leaning down to tug at a nipple with his teeth, or suck a hickey into Loki’s collarbone.

“Gonna come, baby?” Thor asks, his one hand rubbing at Loki’s thigh, close to his groin. He pushes, and Loki spreads open further, easy as anything. The strain makes Loki’s breath catch and he moans again, throwing his head back as Thor keeps up his maddening pace, the flat of his palm rubbing against the head of Loki’s cock with every upstroke.

“Y-yes, I’m, I’m gonna—”

Thor pulls his hand away.

Loki chokes on a whine, body jerking upwards as he looks up at Thor, betrayed.

“What—”

“Arms above your head,” Thor says, smiling that horrible, fond little smile, and Loki bites his lip to keep from swearing.

He settles back into position, and Thor goes back to teasing him. Loki’s body betrays himself to Thor so easily—there seems to be nothing Thor could do to him that would not have Loki quivering with arousal.

“Thor,” Loki sobs, the second time Thor tugs his orgasm out from under him. “Please, god, fuck, I just, I need—”

“I know what you need,” Thor says.

“Fuck you,” Loki snaps, but he backs down when Thor raises and eyebrow.

The third time, Loki doesn’t say anything, just hisses a breath between his teeth, his wrists rubbing together where he’s still got them crossed above his head.

Thor slides two lube-slick fingers inside him after that. A reward for good behavior, he says, and Loki knows better than to argue that it feels more like a punishment.

The fourth time, he tries begging again, and the fifth time, he tries swearing. All of it falls on deaf ears. He’s so on edge that it doesn’t take very long at all for Thor to get him close to the precipice once more, and his cock is slippery with precome by the sixth time Thor denies him.

He’s crying fully by then, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and burning a trail down his cheeks. When Thor pulls his hand away, Loki only takes in a shuddering breath, clenching around Thor’s fingers inside him. He’s sweaty and dizzy and so desperate to come, and he doesn’t know what Thor wants from him.

“Wanna come, baby?” Thor asks again, for the sixth time, and Loki shakes his head, still weeping.

“I—I d-don’t know,” he stutters. “Whatever—whatever you want, please.”

“There we go,” Thor says, sounding proud, and Loki sniffles and blinks the tears from his eyes. Thor’s fingers slide out of him with a soft, wet noise, and Loki shudders, his mouth falling open.

“Thor,” he whimpers, and his hands writhe above his head. “Please, just wanna—”

“Aww, baby, you know you can’t,” Thor croons.

“No,” Loki cries, “no, I just, I wanna, please let me touch you, please. Don’t wanna come. Don’t care. Please.”

Thor exhales shakily, then leans down to capture Loki’s mouth in his. His hands go up to grasp Loki’s, to guide them into wrapping themselves around his back. The brush of Thor’s shirt and jeans on Loki’s naked skin is almost unbearable, but Loki finds himself panting, rutting his cock against the material.

Soon, though, Thor pulls away. Before Loki can open his mouth to protest, his brother sits up and takes his shirt off, then starts undoing the button of his jeans. Loki’s words shrivel in his throat.

Thor winks at him, putting on a little show as he shimmies out of his jeans, and Loki can’t decide whether to focus on his face, so handsome and pleased, or his arms and chest, or his cock, which makes Loki’s mouth water. His cock it is. Yes, definitely that.

“Want something?” Thor grins, running a hand down from his neck, down his chest to his crotch.

In response, Loki lifts a foot and nudges it against Thor’s cock, which bobs and sways at the touch.

“Cock, please,” Loki says pleasantly, though still breathless with the desperate arousal humming like electricity through his veins.

“Such good manners,” Thor laughs. “How could I refuse?”

Loki hums in response, hooking his hands under his knees and bringing them up to his chest. He’s a little tired from being edged for a while, but being an Olympic-level athlete has its perks. Stamina isn’t usually a problem for them.

“Baby,” Thor groans, leaning down again to kiss him, and Loki loses himself in it for a few moments before the head of Thor’s cock nudges up against his rim.

“Want more lube?” Thor asks, pressing a line of kisses down Loki’s neck, where he’s sensitive enough to shiver from it.

“N-no,” Loki gasps, “wanna feel it. Want your cock to make me sore.”

“Fuck,” Thor says, and then he’s pushing in, slow but relentless.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut and pants, open-mouthed and overwhelmed, as his body opens up to his brother’s cock.

His brother, he thinks dazedly. The thought never fails to make him feel light-headed, giddy. They’re doing something crazy, something _insane_ , and it’s so reckless but so unbelievably hot. It’s not just the taboo of it—when they do this, Loki feels like no one could ever love each other as much as they do. No one else would risk it. No one else would survive it, this kind of love.

“Yeah, _nngh_ ,” Loki mumbles, when Thor bottoms out. “Fuck, that’s so good. Love your cock so much.”

“Really needed this, huh?” Thor teases, though he sounds strained. His hips flex and his cock twitches inside Loki.

“Mmm,” Loki hums, rolling his hips down tentatively. “Missed this. Oh, fuck.” He’s stuffed so full that even the smallest movements make him _feel_ it, make him feel just how deeply Thor’s cock is rooted inside him, how well he’s being taken.

“Gonna start moving,” Thor says, breathless.

“Yeah,” Loki says, “yeah, fuck, please.”

The first few thrusts are short and rough, Thor holding his legs open while he rocks his hips, fucking his cock in and out of Loki in inches, letting him get used to it. Eventually, though, Thor leans down, hooking Loki’s legs over his shoulders, bending him in half. Then it goes mind-meltingly good, the long, deep thrusts, Thor’s cock almost popping out of Loki’s rim before he slides right in, fucking back into him in smooth, unfettered motions. Loki loves the feeling of being full so much he almost starts drooling, his eyes rolling backwards in his head as he moans, long and loud. Every thrust makes him rock backwards, his hair getting mussed up, his hands alternating between clawing at Thor’s shoulders and the bed.

Loki concentrates on breathing, but even that starts to get difficult when Thor starts kissing him, a clumsy, wet tangle of lips and tongue. It’s so good, though, having Thor’s mouth on his while he takes his brother’s cock from root to tip. Thor keeps murmuring too, dirty little things about Loki’s tight hole and how well he takes cock. How needy he is, how pretty, how perfect. How shameless, for fucking his own brother.

Too soon, Loki feels himself start to tip over into orgasm, feels it in the curl of his toes and the tightening of his stomach, the ache in his groin.

“‘M gonna,” he mumbles, “oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, Thor, please.”

“Touch yourself, Lo,” Thor groans, “wanna feel you tight around my cock when you come.”

Loki doesn’t hesitate, wriggling a hand between their sweat-slick bodies and fisting his own aching cock.

The first stroke has him clenching hard around Thor, making them both moan, loud and unashamed about it. Loki pulls himself off faster, grinding down on Thor’s cock with no discernible rhythm, chasing the burn and stretch of being split open, and it takes almost no time at all until he’s throwing his head back and crying out, his hand making wet noises as he strokes himself through his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Thor gasps, “oh, fuck, fuck, baby—” and then he’s coming too, thrusting sloppily into Loki, slamming into him so hard it’s almost painful, but good too, feels like being used, being _claimed_.

For a moment, everything is white hot and perfect, sunlight streaming through the windows, refracting, melting into their skin, melting them together. Every other sound is muted; all Loki can hear is his own heart beating. And somehow, he thinks, no matter how strange it is, he can hear Thor’s too.

Eventually, Loki comes back to his senses. Thor is half-collapsed on top of him but holding himself up by the forearms so he doesn’t crush Loki. Ever-considerate, his big brother.

“Again,” Loki demands when they catch their breaths.

Thor laughs, but he pulls himself off of Loki, pushes him to his front and manhandles him so he’s draped on Thor’s lap.

“What—”

“Gonna spank you till you’re ready to go again,” Thor says, matter-of-fact.

“Oh, yay,” Loki says, pillowing his head on crossed arms.

He wriggles his ass. “Get to it, then.”

Thor does. At length and with much enthusiasm, until Loki is red in the face, tears and cries wrenched out of him by the force of Thor’s hand.

They have sex all morning, take a break for lunch—delivery from some sandwich place, and Loki even eats his whole portion—then get right back into it.

By the time the sun is going down, Loki is properly sated, curled up on his side while Thor spoons him, the two of them basking in the glow of a day well-spent.

Soon, though, Thor has to get up. He has practice tonight, and should have been at strength training and cardio in the afternoon, but Loki supposes all the sex was enough exercise. _He_ certainly feels worn out by it, but satisfied in the same way he does after a good work-out.

“You wanna come with me?” Thor says, sitting up on the bed and checking his phone. He gives Loki a hopeful glance, but Loki wrinkles his nose. He wants to spend as much time as he can with Thor, but the thought of being introduced to people as Thor’s _brother_ and nothing else, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It shouldn’t rankle on him the way it does. He’s resigned himself to the necessary secrecy of this relationship, but just for a little longer, he’d like to pretend that he and Thor have nothing to hide.

That—and he doesn’t want to hear about any of the girls they think his brother is fucking.

It’s been such a good day, after all, and he’d hate to ruin it, not when he still has marks of his brother’s affection on his skin, his heart swelling with the assurance of Thor’s love, like a river refreshed by rain.

“I’ll keep myself occupied,” he says. “I’m not interested in meeting your posse.”

Thor’s mouth twitches. “They’re called teammates, baby.”

“The word is entirely foreign to me,” Loki says. “Besides, I really need to sleep after catching the red-eye.” He sits up as well, yawns and stretches his arms above his head, aware of how Thor follows the movement with his eyes. Hungry, despite how much of Loki he’s already had.

Predictable, Thor swoops in to kiss him, and Loki allows it for a few minutes until he knows, if they keep it up, that he’s not going to be able to let Thor leave. So he puts a stop to it, hands on Thor’s chest, gently pushing him away.

“Shower,” he says.

Thor sighs, kisses him one more time, and goes.

—

By the time Thor comes back from practice, Loki is staring at his phone in the dark, curled up in Thor’s thick duvet. His eyes droop, heavy, but he can’t fall asleep. He’s been _trying_ , can feel a headache beginning to form at his temples. Sleep evades him, though, as it always does, and he’s about to give up and take a sleeping pill when Thor steps into the room.

“Hey,” he says, leaning down to kiss Loki. He smells good, freshly-showered, so he must have done that at the rink. “Thought you wanted to sleep?”

“Can’t,” Loki says, and it sounds miserable even to his own ears.

“C’mere, baby,” Thor says, but he’s the one moving closer, spooning Loki up in his arms and moving them both closer to the center of the bed.

Thor kisses the back of Loki’s neck, and all at once, every spring and bolt in Loki’s body that had managed to wind itself up in Thor’s absence gives a hitch and then releases, frustration and worry unspooling into exhaustion.

“Good?” Thor asks, or at least Loki thinks he does.

 _Good,_ he wants to say, but can’t. Suddenly, sleep is upon him, tugging him under, and he drifts off, held fast in Thor’s arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Loki wakes up the next morning to the sound and smell of something cooking. He rolls over and presses himself into Thor’s side of the bed, already cold, and sniffs at his pillow. It smells faintly of the lemon-scented shampoo Thor likes, and also like fresh laundry. Underneath those, it smells like sweat and drool, and vaguely like sex.

“There’s pancakes, if you’re up—are you smelling my pillows?” Thor appears at the door, brandishing a spatula.

“Mmm,” Loki hums, rubbing his face into it.

Thor laughs softly, coming over to sit on the side of the bed, petting Loki’s hair.

“You like it?” Thor asks, amused.

Loki is torn between pressing up into his hand or keeping his face buried in the pillow.

“’s good,” Loki mumbles. “Smells good.” He takes another hearty sniff.

“So strange,” Thor says, with another small laugh. “And kinda gross?”

“You put your tongue in my butt yesterday,” Loki says, blinking sleepily at Thor.

“Fair,” Thor says, putting his hands up in surrender. “Come up here and let me drool on you, if you like it so much.”

There’s no drooling, despite what Thor says, but there _is_ a lot of kissing, long and slow, until Loki’s stomach growls and Thor remembers he made pancakes. Loki rifles in Thor’s closet for a shirt, then puts that on, along with some filched boxers that hang too low on his hips, then goes outside for breakfast.

He shouldn’t have bothered with the clothes—as soon as Thor sees him, he’s hauling Loki up onto the counter, kissing him deeply, hands on his ass.

“The pancakes are gonna get cold,” Loki says, against Thor’s mouth.

“They’re already cold,” Thor says, squeezing Loki’s butt cheek. His other hand is creeping underneath Loki’s borrowed shirt.

“Oh,” Loki says, “in that case. Morning blowjob?”

“Morning blowjob,” Thor confirms.

The rest of the day is almost better than the day before. They fuck a bit, casual, handjobs or blowjobs when the mood strikes, but mostly they sit around and cuddle, watch TV, throw popcorn in each other’s hair. They cook together, raiding the full stock of Thor’s pantry. Loki eats better in the two days he’s spent in Thor’s company than the last few months put together.

At night, Thor goes to practice again, but when he comes home, he asks Loki if he wants to go out for a drive.

Thor takes them out into the desert, leaving behind the bright, swirling lights of the city to gaze upon the heavens, sitting on the hood of Thor’s car. They even sneak a few kisses, and Loki’s heart beats too fast through them all—it’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to being open in public. It’s impossible to feel truly alone when surrounded by the stars.

On their way back home, Loki wonders at how easy it is, being with Thor. Loki twists himself into knots when they’re apart, but none of it even registers when they’re actually properly together. All his sick envy, his fear, his self-loathing, they all just fade into the background: necessary sacrifices for happier days.

Everything is worth it, Loki thinks, just to hear his brother breathe.

—

It’s not obvious at first glance, but despite the opulence of Thor’s home, Loki realizes that it feels like no one actually lives in it. It’s empty, almost sterile. It makes sense, when he thinks about it. Loki’s only changed coaches once in his career, has only had to move rinks once as well. Even then, he doesn’t exactly consider the apartment he lives in _home_. It’s a place to rest, not to settle in or stay, not really. It’s probably worse for Thor, who’s had to change teams at least four times that Loki can remember, uprooting his life every time.

Loki comes to this realization when he’s asking Thor how to operate his dishwasher and Thor sheepishly says he washes everything by hand.

“I’ve never used it,” Thor says, shrugging. “It’s one of the new ones, it has voice command and everything—I just didn’t want to figure it out.”

“You’ve lived here for two years,” Loki says, but he takes the plates and puts them on the sink anyway, reaching for the sponge.

“Yeah,” Thor says, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s never really…felt like home, you know?”

“Yeah,” Loki says, over the sound of the tap running. “I figured. You move around a lot.”

“I was thinking of settling down soon,” Thor says, leaning against the kitchen island, sipping a glass of juice.

Loki snorts. “At the ripe old age of 30?”

“Can’t play hockey forever,” Thor says, and it gives Loki pause. He lathers up the plates, unhurried, thoughtful. Thor’s right, he knows. He’s got enough money to live off of for the rest of his life, anyway. He could quit when he wants, though he’ll probably keep playing for a few more years.

“Where do you wanna go?” Loki asks, trying for nonchalant. Crumbs wash down the drain.

“I dunno,” Thor says. Then, “Where do _you_ wanna go?”

Loki swallows. Rinses the plates off and realizes Thor has stepped up beside him, holding a hand out for a plate. Loki watches him dry them off, mind still slow, still processing.

“I’ve been thinking,” Loki says, drawing his words out. Thor’s hands go still.

“Can’t figure skate forever,” Loki says, and it’s the first time he’s admitted it properly, even to himself. There’s the Grand Prix Finals, and then Nationals, and then—if he’s lucky—the Olympics. And then what? His body’s already falling apart. He’s tired of competing. He could live off of doing shows, maybe do some commentating gigs. Maybe before, that would have been enough. Figure skating was all Loki ever had, all he’s ever really wanted.

That’s not quite true anymore.

“You know,” Thor says. “I’ve always wanted to open an ice rink.”

“Thor,” Loki says, because he knows that if Thor starts saying these things, Loki is going to start wanting them. He already wants so much—has already gotten more than he knows he deserves.

Thor, in true fashion, keeps barrelling on: “I was thinking I could teach some hockey on the side. Just for kids, you know? And you could skate all you wanted to, at night. The ice would be yours, just for you.”

“Thor,” Loki says again, ragged. He bites his lip, and Thor sets the plates down and cups Loki’s neck with his hand.

“We could live together. A big house, just for the two of us. No one would bat an eye. We’d keep to ourselves, let everyone think what they want to think.”

“Stop,” Loki bites out, and Thor’s hand twitches.

“You don’t want it?” Thor asks, voice carefully neutral.

“I want it too much,” Loki says, helpless. He closes his eyes, defeated. “But how am I supposed to let myself have it?”

“The same way you let yourself have this,” Thor says. “The way you let yourself have me.”

Loki shakes his head, but he can’t help it—he starts to imagine what it would be like, what Thor is offering. Starts to imagine his life going a different direction from what he’s always thought it would be.

For the first time, Loki allows himself to think about the possibility of being truly happy.

Mornings with pancakes and coffee and blowjobs on the kitchen counter. Sex whenever they want. An ice rink, all to himself. Sleeping with Thor at night, waking up and smelling his pillows as much as he wants, having that scent on himself too. Living somewhere where they can see the stars spread out like a blanket above their heads.

“I have too much to lose,” Loki says, snapping himself out of it. Even as he says it, he knows it’s not quite true. All he has is a figure skating career that’s about to end in a few years. He barely finished high school, has never had a normal job. All he truly has to lose is Thor.

“It won’t be easy,” Thor says. “But I think it’ll be worth it.”

“I don’t want to ruin your life.”

“Try again,” Thor snorts.

“Thor,” Loki says, glaring.

“You _are_ my life, Loki,” Thor says, and Loki is caught so off-guard by the casual way he says it that he has no idea how to respond.

“That’s—not true,” he sputters. “You have—friends, and fans, and—and dad—”

“My friends are gonna stay my friends if they know how to mind their business, my fans aren’t entitled to my personal life, and Odin can go fuck himself.”

“I came here to make a big romantic gesture for _you_ ,” Loki complains weakly, “you can’t pull this on me _now_!”

“Sorry, baby,” Thor says, his hands settling on Loki’s waist. He doesn’t look sorry at all, the ridiculous, handsome idiot.

“I just want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Thor says, so casual again, like he’s not sending knives into Loki’s heart with every proclamation.

Loki frowns, and then can’t help it—his mouth trembles and his breath hitches and suddenly he’s crying.

“Baby,” Thor says, alarmed, gathering Loki into his arms.

“Ugh,” Loki says, taking a shuddering breath. “Ask, you asshole.”

“What?” Thor asks, a hand on Loki’s neck again, stroking his jaw.

“ _Ask_ ,” Loki snaps, but his eyes are wide and filled with tears, and he’s biting his lip to keep it from falling open in a sob.

“Baby,” Thor murmurs, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yes,” Loki says, before Thor can actually say anything.

Thor laughs and asks anyway.

—

The music starts up, a rollicking Irish jig that rings out in the empty rink. It’s a strange choice, but now that Loki doesn’t have to stick to competition music—doesn’t have to maintain an _image_ for competing—he can skate to whatever the hell he wants to.

He pushes off from the side of the rink and gets into a series of warm-ups. He breathes through his stretches, his crossovers and edges, goes through his turns and spins, and tries for a few easy doubles, then moves up to triples. Not too many jumps though—and no quads, not anymore. The first thing he did after the Olympics was get surgery for his hip. Even now, three years later, he’s not too keen on working himself to the point of injury anymore.

He’s not even technically supposed to be on the ice right now, not after a flare-up earlier in the week, but Thor’s mistake was giving him a key to this place.

His mistake, though, was leaving his phone on mute.

When a song abruptly stops, Loki’s head whips around in indignation, but it dissolves when he sees Thor with his arms crossed by the music console.

“You said you were going to take it easy,” Thor grumbles, when Loki skates over to him.

“I _am_ taking it easy,” Loki says in a soothing voice. With his skates on, he and Thor are almost of a height, and Loki takes advantage of this to kiss him, sweet and sincere.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, baby,” Thor says, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I know, I know,” Loki says, leaning his weight on Thor. “I was about to finish for tonight, anyway. Just a little half-hour practice, that’s all.”

He leans in and nips at Thor’s earlobe, then licks it, feeling wicked.

Thor grunts, and Loki shoves his knee between his brother’s legs.

“We are not fucking in this rink,” Thor bites out, leaving out the _again_ that Loki knows is on the tip of his tongue.

“Then take me home,” Loki says, soft and easy. Then he leans down and bites Thor’s neck, sucking viciously and skating away when Thor grabs for him.

They do end up fucking in the rink (again).

And then afterwards, Thor takes him home, to their home, to their bed and their medals and trophies on display in the living room, furniture they picked out and argued over, Thor’s little garden in the backyard with the tomatoes about to burst open.

To a house and a life well-lived and well-loved.

A life not without its hardships—Loki knows this intimately—but one where the hardships make the victories taste all the sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated 💕 
> 
> Also come talk to me on Twitter @sendaraven! 💖


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